Start of the Hero, Villain, Conquer, Savior
by Mstudify
Summary: Revans early years, starting at Deralia and going who knows where.
1. Chapter 1

Introduction

**Pol Pot was a history teacher and Hitler was a vegetarian painter, Mass Murders come from the places you least expect. - Unknown**

_Kandosii shereshoy trattok'o, _is what the Mandolarians would come to call it. Literally translated it means an awesome lust for life falling. This description is perhaps the most correct quote to description the Battle of Deralia. Beginning 3,979 years before the Battle of Yavin, Mandalore the Ultimate began his plan to conqueror the Republic with unusual subtly, picking of worlds not bound with the Republic in any specific way, he quickly assimilated their resources into his growing empire.

These resources are how Deralia caught Mandalore's eye. Deralia was unlucky enough to have the one resource Mandalorians all coveted and desired, beskar, Mandolarian iron. Used in armor and other weapons of warfare, beskar was previously known to only exist on the planet Mandalore. This discovery moved Deralia to the forefront of Mandalore's invasion plan and its inhabitant's destruction

Deralia was a below average planet. Having one mega-continent surrounded by ocean, the planet had a configuration similar to a bow and arrow target. The outer ring was sand and lagoon based, the second ring contained rich rain forest and the like, the second to last ring was completely made up of mountain ranges considered too dangerous to cross. The inner ring was a desert, broken by steams from the mountains and the occasion oases; it was here the Deralian people lived.

Deralia had a very small population, numbering around 10,000 at the time of Mandalore's invasion, which was not enough to fill a space cruiser of the time. All of the occupants of the planet were based in one walled city, similar to the concept of Iziz on the planet Onderon. However, there was a fourth of the city the wall did not cover, as there was a cliff face that offered no ground to build on. The city was named Aquilo Lucem, and was ruled by 10 clans, who perfectly encapsulated Deralian culture.

The Deralian had several main cultural quirks that separated them from the rest of the galaxies humans. Firstly, all Deralians were culturally required to cover their face, leaving only their eyes exposed. This was likely a response to the sever wind storms that rocked the city, and the Deralian belief that the eyes are how you evaluated the worth of the person behind it. Secondly, and ironically, all Deralian possessed a tattoo on their left bicep, given at birth, which was ironically similar to the Mandalorian identification tattoo on their right bicep. Both served the same purpose, identifying the clan, sub-clan, and position within the clan.

Clans were very important in Deralian society. Each clan had a different job within the community, and were expected to perform there clan job and marry within their clan. Colligit, aqua, and aedificator were the largest clans, focusing on food gathering, water gathering and building, respectfully. The second tier was the second largest Mercator and peritus artifex, the merchant and skilled workers. The third tier contained the vigilum and scientificus or the scientist and police force. The highest tiers was the smallest, contained the most power, and were allowed to interbreed. They were the militum or the military leader and political advisors, and the rex / regina or ruling class.

As the Mandolarians approached, the Militum and Regina assembled to confront the problem…


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Start of the Hero, Villain, Conquer, Savior

Chapter 1: The Way the World Ends

Disclaimer: All based on KOTOR/Star Wars EU… I own nothing

**War. War never changes. The Romans waged war to gather slaves and wealth. Spain built an empire from its lust for gold and territory. Hitler shaped a battered Germany into an economic superpower. But war never changes. – Ron Perlman, Fallout 1 intro**

High Queen Iziaslav of the Deralians people sighed. She had heard the reports of the Mandolarians coming out of hyperspace over here planet, and she knew that this was possibly the end of her people. She had only been ruler of her people for three years and she was already facing one of the biggest challenges her people had faced in a thousand generations.

_You will fail. _A voice said.

A voice she promptly stomped with extreme prejudice. Turning back to the situation at hand, Iziaslav picked up a gavel and hit it three times on her desk. The assembled military and political leaders turned expectantly to their Queen.

"This Court of War will come to order, as we are facing a crisis we don't have time for the normal pleasantries; Commander Vsevolod, bring use up to speed." she said.

A man similar in age to the Queen stood up and approached the front of the room. He wore a full blood red coat and face cover, in accordance with Deralian traditions. They stood in sharp contrast to the Queens total black color scheme, which also suited Deralian traditions.

When he reached the front of the room, he gave what some on lookers might have interpreted as a casual glance to the Queen, but both knew it was more. It contained a hint of humor and a reassuring sparkled that emulated through his brown eyes for the briefest of seconds, and then it turned into a fire that burned with freighting intensity.

"As you know," his voice boomed, "at 0800 local time today, our sensors detected five Dreadnought class ships coming out of hyperspace, ships that later disappeared from our scopes. Before they activated some sort of stealth field, we manage to identify them as _Mandalorian _ships…"

The Political Adviser on Commerce stood and said "You say that as if it should mean something."

"Ahh, I forget some of us don't read the intelligence reports," Vsevolod replied condescendingly, "The Mandalorians are a species that worship battle and hardship, believing it to bring them honor and social standings. This resulted is one of the most blood thirsty groups in the galaxy, and they are sitting on our doorstep."

There was not a word or sound that could be heard for what seemed an eternity, and then all hell broke loose. Military and political officials stood screaming at each, trying to enforce their point of view and solutions to the problem.

High Queen Iziaslav hastily picked up here gavel and started banging, calling for order, seemingly to no effect. The banging only added to the noise, and the yelling simply increased to accommodate it. The sound drove on for several more seconds, until the distinctive sound of a weapon blast caused several of the councilmen to dive for cover.

"LISTEN, I don't give a damn what you're opinion is, you will listen to the High Queen AND SHOW HER YOUR GODDAMN RESPECT!" Vsevolod yelled pointing his blaster with a practiced hand, "Now, return to your seats."

Iziaslav looked at Vsevolod and gave a warm glance, then shrugged and began to speak "Before, we jump to conclusions, you must know appeasement, bribery, and negotiations will not work, the Mandalorians want either a battle or the slaves from our civilization, nothing more or less."

The Court looked, at themselves, their friends, their rivals, it did not matter. Then, as one, rose and declared "Then we fight!"

The Queen looked to Vsevolod, and simply nodded.

Immediately, Commander Vsevolod began shouting orders, organizing his commanders, rallying the politicians and sending each away with a specific set of orders. For several minutes, there was nothing but a flurry of activity as everyone was sent away on their tasks, until only he and the Queen remained.

"Commander, stay a second." The Queen commanded.

"Yes, my Queen." He replied, slowly approaching her desk.

Without invitation, he sat down and grasped the Queens hand, and slowly began unwrapping the cloth.

"Vsevolod, Vsevolod, Vsevolod, KHROMIK!" The Queen said, trying to get her husband's attention.

He paused at the mention of his first name, looked around and promptly removed his red facemask. An act that was considered culturally taboo, except in the presence of a lover, which was the case. Know unmasked, he grasped his wife's hand and kissed it, gently murmuring "Yes, my lovely Veskasa?"

High Queen Veskasa Iziaslav sighed and removed her own mask, pausing to admire the features of her husband. He featured jet black hair, and a face that could only be described as "elegant" that nicely accented his light skin. A gentle-stare was turned to Veskasa, with a soft smile that caused her to abandon all her thoughts and smile back.

"You know," She said dreamily "My lips are a lot better to kiss than my hand."

"It was your idea not to let emotions interfere with the government," he said with a flash of a smile, "I was just following orders, my queen."

That brought a series of laughter from the both of them, full of the love and emotion they were forced to repress in their respective theaters of government.

"Honey, you won't leave now, right?" Veskasa, he voice full of longing.

Khromik jaw became set and that piercing looked returned, "I have leave, organize the troops, pre-pare our defenses, I likely won't return for a long time." He said with a hint of sadness.

Neither said the obvious, that there might not be a return, that Khromik could die in battle.

Khromik did the only thing that he knew could bring his wife reassurance, he stood hugged her and planted the gentlest of kisses on her forehead. Turning he said

"Don't worry; I'll check on him, he is bound to have gotten in some sort of trouble by know."

The Queen simply laughed and moved to grab her masks.

"I will come with you." She stated, moving the grab her facemask and started rewrapping her hand covering; Khromik did the same.

They turned to leave, Khromik wrapping his arm around his wife and the couple started walking, Veskasa leaning her head on her husband's arm. They walked out of the council chamber, moving to the second level of the government place. Dull government grays covered the hallway and the couple pasted colorless room after colorless room. This changed when the couple reached the "housing" section of the palace, deep blues and greens laced the walls with intricate designs painted in white covered the walls.

The couple made a left, walking into their room and that of their son. Both parents braced to see what trouble their son had cooked up and found…nothing. Upon review however, the parents found there son had managed to unlock Khromik's safe, and sort through his military textbooks, selected one, and was promptly reading it on the bed. Both parents had no idea how he had got the safe combination, nor how he reached the 6 foot tall ledge it was placed on, but for a moment, they didn't care. They simply beamed at their son, watching him calmly read.

It might have seemed odd for a three year old to be reading a novel on advanced military strategy, but this was a special case. The child was obliviously a prodigy, already having fully grasped the three Deralian dialects, Galactic Basic, and Verbal Binary (Droidspeak). He was also studying the extinct language of High Galactic, a pre-republic language used within the elite and clergy.

The child had advanced knowledge of Math, Science, and Language arts, as well as more that sufficient knowledge of galactic and Daralian history. Needless to say, both parents were very proud.

Knowledge of the child's "special talents" had spread through Aquilo Lucem and the majority of the population were quiet happy with this development. This child would, after all, grow to be Supreme Military Commander and King of the Daralian when the time came, but neither parent cared for this talk.

Revan looked up from his readings, spotting his two parents beaming at him. The book forgotten, he jumped off the bed and ran to his parents in the way only small children can.

"_Mom, Dad,_" Revan shouted in Daralian, "I just read… what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Both parents said a little too quickly.

"But Mom… feels sad," the child said questioningly "And Dad smells like he just used his kerbaster, he only does that when he's angry!"

Veskasa looked to her husband and raised her eyebrows, giving a piercing look. Khromik gave a nod, leaning back and locking the door behind him. He then turned to his child, picking him up and placing him on his bed. Both parents sat down on enter side of him, and all three removed there face masks, revealing a young face that bore a striking similarity to his mother.

"I am leaving for a time…" Khromik began.

"And Mom and I can't come" Revan finished with a frown.

"Yes"

"But you will be back in a few months, of course." Veskasa said, trying to reassure herself and her son.

"If the fates permit it, and I have a good feeling that the fates are with us." Khromik said with a smile, trying to cover the blatant lie.

"Mom told me not to li…"

"No," Khromik interrupted, "Have you done you're daily studies?"

"Yes"

"Have you done all you're chores?"

"Yes"

"Have you tried you're absolute hardest at everything you've done today?"

This caused a pause in Revan and his childish eyes closed shut in an attempt to think of the answer the question; however, Khromik did not wait for an answer.

"Revan; promise me you will try your hardest at everything you do."

"_I promise Dad_" was the replay.

"Good," Khromik said. "I am activating you're honorary commission in the Daralian military, go get your uniform."

Revan throw a hasty salute, then ran off to his room, brimming with excitement.

"WALK!" The Queen yelled after him. She then turned a glare to her husband

"Why are you bringing our son into this?" The Queen asked in an angry whisper.

"Three reasons. One is that he needs a purpose, or else he will just go around and break into my safe again. Second is that he will be the Supreme Military Commander of Deralia someday, and third is that I have a VERY important job for him."

The Queen was about to inquire what this job was when a black and red suit jumped between them.

"REPORTING FOR DUTY!" Revan yelped.

Before Commander Vsevolod could say a thing, the Queen started adjusting the uniforms cuffs and collar.

"Mommm, ge' off!"

"Don't 'Mom" me, if my son is going into the military, he will look the part." The Queen snarled back.

After several second of readjustment, the Queen moved away to admire her handiwork. A black duster was dominating over gray pants and undershirt, along with black combat boots. The shoulders of this duster were blood red as was the sleeves; the color contrast signified the mixture of royalty and military family roots.

"Ensign Revan Vsevolod, with the power invested in me as Supreme Military Commander, to be the Queens bodyguard in my stead." He said with a hint of a smile.

"Yes sir!" Revan shouted, and then questioningly said. "Err, I don't have a weapon."

Khromik smiled and reached into his pocket, pulling out an intricately carved butterfly knife made out of _beskar__**.**_

"This is a relic of our people, hundreds of years ago it was made for the military leader of our people and there it has stayed; passed from father to son since. I now give it to you, Revan Vsevolod, my son and heir." He said with a smile, giving the knife to his son.

Revan held the knife with tender hands, turning it and examining it. He smiled, turned and put it in his pocket.

"THANKS DAD," Revan shouted "Ohh, I mean, yes sir!"

Khromik Vsevolod smiled, patting his son on the head with pride. Turning to his wife, he whispered.

"I will return, I am sure of it. It the meantime, take care of our little general."

Kissing his wife one last time, he put his blood red facemask back on. On his way to leave he stopped, looked to his son and gave the briefest of nods. And then he left.

High Queen Veskasa Iziaslav watched her husband leave and collapsed onto a chair. A thousand thoughts ran through her head, thoughts for her people, her family, and herself. It was almost enough to suffocate a person, and she had no comfort to combat it. I small hand snaked its way into hers, and a mature voice said.

"We will see him again, I can feel it."

The Veskasa nodded and returned to her duty as Queen.

* * *

_250,000 miles above Deralia_

"… With this gathered information, I doubt that the Daralian will be able to mount an effective defense. They should be dead or conquered within a week of the invasion." Cassus Fett said with confidence. "Any questions?"

The leaders of the assembled Mandolarian clans remained static, looking to Mandalore the Ultimate to see his response. Mandalore leaned forward slightly and his voice boomed.

"You're sure they can't smith the _beskar,_ these people have had access to it just as long as our people."

"No intelligence is completely accurate, but we are mostly sure that's a negative." Fett responded.

With Mandalore having shown questions were okay, another voice range out.

"Why don't we just nuke the bastards and be done with it?"

"Because, Balor, that is not REMOTELY honorable. You would do well to remember that in future meetings!" Mandalore shouted.

The room fell into a stunned silence, nobody wanting to risk further wrath. Finally, Cassus Fett stood and calmly stated.

"It is settled than; Clans Vizsla and Skirata will launch the invasion at 0600 tomorrow. _Oya!"_


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Start of the Hero, Villain, Conquer, Savior

Chapter 2: Last Stands

Disclaimer: All based on KOTOR/Star Wars EU… I own nothing

**"Let me not then die ingloriously and without a struggle, but let me first do some great thing that shall be told among men hereafter."**— **Hector of Troy**, _Iliad_** XXII, Lines 304-5**

Military intelligence is a funny thing. Sometimes, its mere existence can stop wars and threats, a mention of its name can make enemies of the state run away in fear.

Or it can start wars, kill innocents, and destroy armies, all on accident.

Unfortunately for the Mandolarians, there "crack" intelligence team had done the second. Firstly, the Daralian did have ready access to their _beskar _reserves and had managed to mass produce weapons and armor with an efficiency that astounded even the Mandolarians own weapon smiths. Secondly, the Daralians had a warrior tradition that rival the legacies of their enemies and most of the population were well versed in that particular tradition. And perhaps the most important of all, the general of the Daralians seemed to be a tactical master mind. This general played to the strengths of his force with ambushes, hit-and-run attacks, and making great use of his superior fire power.

The combination of these factors lead to the complete destruction of the Clan Vizsla, basically side-lining them for the next ten years until their numbers could repopulate. That's when Mandalore decide he had wasted enough time at this seemingly insignificant planet. Orbital strikes became very common, and Mandalore sent in Clans Ordo and Balor to simply swarm the defenders. Although casualties were high, the defenders slowly lost men and ground, until only the commander and his guard remained…

* * *

_Several miles away from Aquilo Lucem…_

The Commander started at the fire, deep in thought. His thoughts drifted in a jumbled mess, stray emotions and impulses sifting through him like a tide. He knew there were two truths in his world of fantasy, one of them comforting and the other bittersweet.

He knew he had lost the war. All of his men were dead or scattered. All his supplies were shattered and rotting. He knew Mandolarian commando teams were rounding up any survivors and executing them, which justified Vsevolod feelings of hypocrisy for his opponents. He had given them a great battle, yet they refused to accept his men as worthy of whatever standards their imaginations created.

But his other memorizes was not one of fear, but of hope. His last stand might have bought his family and people time to escape, to live. He knew if one person could save his people, it was his own wife. She was a strong woman, and a more than capable leader. He hoped she would do nothing… drastic thought. But those traits were what had attracted him to her in the first place, so he could only smile at the memory of them.

There was also one spot of pure darkness in his mind, were the feelings of fear, hate, and self-loathing threatened to overwhelm him. It revolved around Revan of course. He regretted not being able to be there for him in the future, never be able to pre pear him for the dangers of this world. A tear flowed down his cheek, as he knew he would never see his son achieve the great things he was destined for.

He blinked these thought away and the fire rematerialized. Yet, something was wrong, the silenced seemed… heavy. A brief look around was all that was needed to confirm his suspicions, as five distinctive _bumps _in the ground appeared to be moving closer to him. Taking a deep breath, Vsevolod began to slowly move his hand to his officer sword, ready to make his last stand a bright one. He charged. A slash to one of the Mandolarians midsection stopped him instantly and Vsevolod charged the second. Raising his sword, he brought it down heavily on the exposed neck of the _beskar _armor, decapitated his opponent. With speed some would have thought impossible, he turned, only to be hit with six bright balls of light. He dropped to his knees and felt… nothing.

"_So that's what that feels like_" he thought, and closed his eyes.

* * *

_The Royal Palace_

A scream of a child pierced the night air and awoke the Queen from her fitful sleep. In that moment, she did not act as a Queen. She acted as a mother, and ran to protect her child. She burst into her son's room and threw on the light. There he was, crying as if he was dying but otherwise unharmed. She took a calming breath, as no physical danger was present.

"What is wrong?" she whispered to her son, trying to calm him down.

"Something… happen to Daddy." Was the strained reply.

Veskasa felt her stomach drop. She had not heard of her husband for some time and hope was becoming slim. But he just had to be alright. He would not abandon her in this time of need, she was sure of it, but… the army was crushed. She knew that much. Could her husband truly be…dead? She tried to ignore the possibility but doubt would linger, she knew. She would wonder lintel he walked back to camp or she saw a body, and she desperately wanted it to be the former.

"No, no, he's okay. It's fine." She said with a convection she did not feel.

She spent the rest of the night there, trying to comfort here son. All the while battling her own doubts.

* * *

_Royal Court_

The remains of the Court of War gathered the next day. It had been three months since this Court had decided to declare war on an enemy infinitely greater than they, and it showed on each of the members face. Tired eyes were all the Queen could see with the masks, but body language told her all she needed to know. They had given up.

"We are gathered to decide the remaining fate of our army, our people, and our civilization. I open the floor for debate."

The room was quiet, oppressing so. For a long time, no body spoke. Everybody was at war with themselves, they all had two options. To destroy all they stood for, or to destroy their lives. It was an impossible choice. The silence stretched on.

"My Queen. We are receiving a hail from the orbiting ships." Said a young adjutant.

That caught the Councils attention.

"Well…. Put them on the main line, now." A member of the council snapped.

A three dimensional ball of light appeared in the center of the room. Slowly, the image started to take focus. There stood Mandalore the Ultimate, standing arms crossed, seemingly judging the council on their worthiness of his presence. He spoke in deep baritone, chilling the council members.

"You have fought bravely and well, Queen of Deralia. You will be commended in the Hall of Battle on _Manda'yaim,_ but we both know you are doomed. Accept the inevitable, surrender."

"What are your terms?" was the Queens careful answer. If she could get her people out of this situation, she would.

"Unconditional."

"According to your own code of honor, we deserve to know what that means." The Queen said as collected as possible.

Mandalore's head tilted, he seemed to be considering the statement.

"All of age will be conscripted into the military, youth will be taken for training, and all that remains will be used as a manual labor force. We will march into your city tomorrow whether you wish it or not. Prepare." The hologram went dark.

A silence descended once again on the council chambers, mirroring the situation less than 15 minutes earlier, nobody had anything to say. The question still stood, abandon their principles or abandon their lives.

"I call for a vote." Said the Queen.


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Start of the Hero, Villain, Conquer, Savior

Chapter 3: Start of the Warrior

Disclaimer: All based on KOTOR/Star Wars EU… I own nothing

**"Extraordinary people survive under the most terrible circumstances and become more extraordinary because of it."- Robertson Davis**

Canderous Ordo walked upon the ruins of what used to be the great Deralian people. Hundreds of hidden faces were strewn around the town in which he now marched, all lying in the exact place they had fallen in the glories battle. He had seen battles before in service to the great Mandalore, as he had quickly risen to the rank of Commander at only 21, but this fight was so fierce and so desperate that he knew he should not be walking away from it. Had he been a Jedi, he would have commented on the fact that his _destiny_ had purpose for him yet. But he believed in the blaster and not honky religions, at least not yet.

He had been given the great honor by Mandalore to accept the surrender of the remaining Deralian people. They had fought bravely and only the women and children remained, it was quiet logical for them to surrender. But they did not. Upon receiving fire from the town, Captain Ordo had reacted calmly and deployed his troops to crush the town. 30 hours of tooth and nail fighting latter, here he was, leading the remains of his troops into the burning town.

His internal musings were destroyed when one of his lieutenants, a promising recruit by the name of Jagi approached and saluted.

"Hail Mandalore" was the standard greeting.

"Hail Mandalore" was the reply.

"Al'verde, were have something that might interest you... a survivor" Jagi said in a somewhat excited tone.

"A coward? Put him to death, his people fought bravely as he ran and hide!" The mire mention of scum such as traitors sent Canderous's blood to a boil. They were a disgrace to the Mandalorian code and needed to be burned from this universe.

"Not a traitor, sir. A young child."

"So? Follow SOP. Send him to a ship and start his training as a Mandalorian." Was the annoyed reply. Jagi was bothering him over such a trivial manner.

"Sir... It is a bit more complicated than that. Would you follow me, sir?"

With a sigh, Canderous began to follow his young lieutenant. Jagi was one of the better solders under his command, so his suggestions were usually worth following.

As they walked Jagi rambled on the status of his troops, the plunders they had recovered, and the honor they had surely gained. Canderous's mind wandered as he saw the burning buildings and broken weapons that lay scattered on the ground.

It was a shame, he thought. Such honorable foes would have a great edition to the Mandalore fleet. They had fought to the last, and done it well. Much honor should be accounted to him for winning against such a worthy foe. Hopefully, the Republic will be just as worthy.

He and Jagi had pasted the outskirts of the town now and were walking on top of a steep cliff. Canderous cut his internal musings, least he slip and face into an abyss.

Jagi stopped and gestured forward  
"What are your orders, Sir?"

Canderous took in the situation on front of him, a mix of emotions ranging from admiration to curiosity flowing through him. In all his years as a warrior, he could honestly say he had never encountered this situation.

Three Neo-Crusaders, armor blood stained from battle, moved tensely in the sunlight. They were near the edge of the cliff, forming a simi-circle around a Deralian. The Deralian wore what appeared to be a modified military uniform, Canderous, saw. It was black with red stripes, and that's not standard. Perhaps it was a high ranking member of the city, or something of similar importance. However, this thought was banished as he saw the small stature of the Deralian and his eyes. It was a child. A child less than five years old and it was pointing a blaster at the three Mandalorians.

Perhaps seeking to show his courage to his commander, one of the Mandalorians dived at the child. With total apathy, almost droid like in a way, the child aimed and fired twice.

As the corpse fell, Canderous stood in shock. Two perfect shoots to the armors only weak spot, the neck. It did not seem possible that one so young could be so precise.

The child showed no fear or recollection in his eyes that he had killed. He simply aimed at the Mandalorians, emotion burning in his eyes.

Canderous was shocked. Children did not do that! They could not kill so smoothly and efficiently. The majority of Mandalorian children went into shock after their first kill.

_"This kid is either a psychopath or… something more._"

"_Leave us._" The Commander said to the three other Mandalorians remaining. They looked upon him in surprise, but not the less followed orders, trudging back to plunder the remains of the town. He waited until it was just him and the child. This next part would be tricky, but worth it. Hopefully.

He turned to the Deralian, took in his cold eyes and the blaster pointed squarely at his chin, and took off his helmet. The child wavered, and Canderous resisted the urge to smile at that development. He knew reading the intelligence reports on the rival cultures was a good idea.

"Why do you fight, _adiik_?" He asked in Basic.

The child was started by the combination of a helmetless Mandalorian and a friendly stranger and answered without thinking.

"Because there is nowhere else to go."

"You are strong, _ad'ika_. Come with me, I can help you. Let you fight for a new family."

The child's eyes swelled with tears, that was all he wanted. His family.

"My family is dead." Was the reply in a small voice.

"Family is those who are close to you. Not those who raised you. You can always find a family, _ad'ika_."

The child lowered his blaster and dropped it on the sand. Canderous held out his hand, and the child took it. They walked away from the cliffs, away from the town, on to a ship and blasted into the sky. The child never let go.

Canderous had always wanted a son, and now he had one. _Aliit ori'shya tal'din. _Family is more than blood.


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Start of the Hero, Villain, Conquer, Savior

Chapter 4: Found

Disclaimer: All based on KOTOR/Star Wars EU… I own nothing

**Loki: I've seen worlds you've never known about! I have grown, "Odinson", in my exile! I have seen the true power of the Tesseract, and when I wield it – **

**Thor: Who showed you this power? Who controls the would-be King? **

— _The Avengers_

For most sentient species, their first trip off their home planet was exhilarating. To see the atmosphere burn past the ship as you rose, to view your home become smaller and smaller until it seemed it never existed, to finally view space in its full and infinite glory. It was beautiful. Many would remember their first flight to their dying day.

Revan felt none of this. Inside the ship the Mandalorian had taken him on, he started at the ceiling, and wondered. He knew all the people he had ever known were dead, he had not seen them die, but he had felt it in his very soul. He had nowhere to go, no friends to turn to, and was alone, truly alone.

Hundreds of possibilities ran through his mind as to what he could do, and the answer was nothing. He had no power, or money, and whatever stature his family had given him was useless.

Then he felt it. A hint of purpose flowing through the air, a brush of power underneath his skin. Revan did not realize it at the time, but the force was guiding him and like so many others through history, Revan followed its will. He felt safe with this Mandalorian, so he would stay with him.

* * *

One Year Later

"_This is not possible_" was a thought that seemed to cross Canderous mind at least once a day.

When he and the child had returned to Mandalore's fleet, he had decided to start training the kid. By the time he would pass the trials in to adulthood, it would be likely Mandalore would be starting the war with the Republic. This meant his son would be leading the charge.

He was serious about the child being his son. He had not officially adopted him in Mandalorian custom and the child had not received the tattoo on his arm that would brand him part of the Ordo clan. But that would change.

Canderous pulled himself out of stunned silence to watch as the young boy, who renaming him _lis'ika _in Mandalorian tradition. He was currently involved in a mock duel using _Beskade_, or Mandalorian swords, to fight one of the fighters from Clan Skirata. The Skirata was around 10 years in age and had trained for many years to be a competent swordsmen, and under normal circumstances, he could defeat most enemies.

But not Revan. He had shown himself to be head and shoulders above anyone in his age group, and the training group above that. He seemed to never lose, and would always win no matter what the costs. He already had several scares to prove it.

And so, when someone from clan Skirata had declared _lis'ika_ was somehow cheating, both Canderous and his son had taken extreme offence at the comment. This lead to Revan declaring a challenge to the Skirata in the dueling arena.

Revan had just leaped over the Skirata and was trying to incapacitate his foe with a headlock. Canderous noticed he did that a lot. He would often abandon the traditions of a duel and punch someone in the face or pull out his sword in a gun fight.

The other boy flipped Revan over him and tried to slash him while he was still in midair. Revan turned the throw in to a roll, grabbed his abandon sword, and blocked the blow. The Skirata back stepped and Revan followed with several coordinated strikes to his opponent, trying to break his enemy's defensives.

Revan then punched the other kid in the gut. As the boy doubled up and went to his knees, Revan leveled the sword with his neck, his helmet not hiding the feeling of satisfaction at the victory.

Canderous smiled, and walked away.

* * *

The fact that the Sith inspired the Mandalorian Wars was not common knowledge. Likely, it would never be. But that was no cause, in the Sith emperor's mind at least, not to be careful.

Therefore, several spies currently existed within the Mandalorian fleets. Their job was to report to their overseers anything they deemed useful. Troop movements and likeliness of victory was the standard information these spies gathered, but they would occasionally branch out.

So when a senior spy received orders to study the culture of the Mandalorians, he was not the least surprised. He took a small holo-cam and went to several duels, a game of _meshgeroya_ (soccer), and was about to send the report when heard news of an honor fight around the ship.

Always one to see opportunity, the spy made his way to the fight, and was almost blinded by the raw amount of force power being generated in the area. He looked around in wonder, trying to find the source of what was literally making the room vibrate with power. It did not take long to find the young warrior that seemed to demolish his enemy with ease.

Gathering as much video as he could, he sent the information to the Sith empire, to be soon to be view by the Emperor himself.

* * *

Mandalore the Ultimate was not a fearful man. Standing a tall 6 foot high, he was larger than life in a way, especially when he wore his blood red armor. If anything, others feared him.

But when he received a call from the hidden ally that was the Sith Empire, he would always feel a tingling in his stomach, and his hands would slightly shake.

He stopped outside the door to his communication room, taking a deep breath that provided no real confront, and he walked in.

"What does the Dark Lord of the Sith ask of me?" he said as smoothly as he could manage.

The hood figured smiled under his black coat, and Mandalore shuttered despite himself.

"The Sith have a… favor that we ask of you Mandalore."

That stopped Mandalore's fear. Curiosity over ran his system. A favor? The Sith Emperor was not one to ask favors or give suggestions. He gave orders and they were followed, simple as that. The situation was alarmingly irregular and Mandalore, not for the first time, wished he had never discovered the Sith in the first place. They had given weapons, ships, and a purpose to the Mandalorian's, but at what cost?

"What is you wish?"

A thin smile appeared under the hood and two yellow eyes shined from the darkness. "In your fleet, there is a child you captured from the planet Deralia. We will come for this child in due time, but we ask you to… prepare this child for our arrival."

_What?_ Was the only thought Mandalore could muster. Why would the Sith need a child, much less a specific child? The reasoning was beyond him.

"I don't believe we took any children from Deralia, the planet was bombed and the shelter that contained them was destroyed." Less than one thousand Deralia natives remained after their battle. And all of them were on their home planet being used as slave labor.

The grin disappeared and the yellow eyes flash dangerously. "You do have the child, Mandalorian. And you will do as we ask."

Mandalores blood ran cold and he took an involuntary half-step back.

"Y…Yes, sir."

The simile returned. "Good."

And the transmission cut.


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Start of the Hero, Villain, Conquer, Savior

Chapter 5: Chosen to Kill

Disclaimer: All based on KOTOR/Star Wars EU… I own nothing

**General Ross: You're aware that we've got an infantry weapons development program. Well, in WWII they initiated a sub-program for bio-tech force enhancement. **

**Emil Blonsky: Yeah, a Super Soldier. **

**General Ross: Yes. An oversimplification, but yes... Across the hall they're trying to arm you better? We're trying to make ****_you_**** better. **

—**_The Incredible Hulk_** (2008 film)

Canderous was… perplexed. Simply put Mandalorian did not become… worried for their family. They were raised in a militaristic society that prized strength, and were therefore strong. This lead to each family member never being afraid for the others safety, at least not publicly so. So Canderous was perplexed, not worried, about _lis'ika_.

Three days ago, _lis'ika _had gone out to the ships training room, as he often would. He had not returned since then. That was three days ago. Canderous had searched the ship up and down, asked his relatives and friends, and even checked the ships security footage, but to no avail.

So, here he was, sitting in the barracks being… perplexed.

The doors at the end of the barracks opened with the slight hiss, awaking Canderous from his internal troubles. In walked one Mandalorian, with his black neo-crusader armor. His ranking indicated that he was the captain of the ship, so Canderous saluted to him. The Captain returned the salute, removing his helmet and motioning to the a table in the center of the room.

"Three days ago bulkhead 4C experienced a catastrophic malfunction and decompressed into space. Later review would show that faulty construction lead to the decompression and throughout the fleet measures are being implemented to prevent this from happening on other ships." There was a pause. A sigh. "There was only one causality as a result of malfunction. It was later identified as child with a unique tattoo on his arm, can you identify it?"

A hologram was placed and it shown a tattoo. Canderous mind blanked. He could not think any concrete thoughts as he stared at the tattoo of the boy that would have been his son. He felt shame; he had never formally adopted the child and now he never would. He did not know it, but the shame would remain with him for some time.

"That's him." Was all he managed to say.

The Captain nodded, stood up and replaced his helmet. Reaching into his satchel, he slide two packages across the table to Canderous. Both were recognizable to Canderous. One was the gauntlet of _lis'ika_ armor, in tradition with honoring dead Mandalorians. There other was another bar for his armor; he had earned a Colonel rank.

"Congratulations." The Captain said, and left.

* * *

Revan knew he was in trouble. He had been returning from one of the training rooms where he had finally felt he had finally mastered the _Beskade_ fighting technique when he had been grabbed from behind. He had tried to fight the armored attacker, but one fist to the face and a black eye later, he regained conscience in an unfamiliar room where he was subjected to dozens of test that measured his reflexes, cognizance ability, and leadership skill. The Mandalorians guiding these tests had the rank to ask him to do this so, like a good soldier, he followed orders.

That was around a day ago. He had sat, tied to a chair, waiting for his end or salvation. He was tired and hungry and thirsty so he took the initiative and started to wiggle out of his stun cuffs. He had some trouble and shocked himself several times, but he eventual removed them and was able to move from his chair and walk around the small medical room.

He was examining the scalpels in the corner when the door opened. He jumped, using the motion to mask slipping a scalpel into his pocket.

In walked another Mandalorian, this one much smaller than the ones who had kidnapped him. He was helmetless and his body language was relaxed. He was older, white hair and age lines shown on his face. He gave a large smile and took an amused expression.

"I see this is unnecessary." He said, throwing a small key on the nearby table.

Revan stared at him again, looking into his eyes. He _felt_ that he could trust this man and his feelings were usually right. So he went for the straight approach.

"Why am I here?" was the blunt question.

The Mandalorian raised his head and gave Revan a piercing look. "You have been chosen, my boy!" he said with false enthusiasm.

"Chosen for what?"

A sigh, a sad frown. "Your intelligence, reflexes, and leadership skills ranked within the top ½ percentile of all know space. Mandalore has personally decided to watch your progress, and you will now be training with the elite shock troopers. You will also be given leadership lessons by Cassius Fett and the other Field Marshals. You are expected to either be Mandalore or his second in command in less than 30 years. In short, you have been fast tracked to leadership of the entire Mandalorian people."

Revan nodded, keeping a neutral expression. He was born to be the King and General of Deralia, so the pressure was… familiar. But unwanted. He just wanted to be a person, not a war assist.

"You do not agree." Revan stated.

A vacant expression showed on the Mandalores face. "I won't disagree with Mandalore." Which basically meant yes.

"I would say as a doctor that the stress and chains of the job will destroy natural childhood development and basic moral and ethical development. Unfortunately, that is not the main moral dilemma."

"What is?" Revan said with a bit of fear, self-loathing was rolling of this man in waves.

"To add to the 'perfect human' image, Mandalore has authorized medical procedures that are considered illegal in the majority of the galaxy. Including

Occipital Capillary Reversal, Superconducting Fibrification of Neural Dendrites, and Carbide Ceramic Ossification. Also, nanobots will be added and be permanently reproducing in the subject's blood. Overall this leads to stronger bone structure, superior sight, and a 100% increase in the subject's reflexes. The nanobots will increase natural healing and make the blood resistant to all toxins and poisons." Was the deadpan answer. "The procedure will hurt… a lot."

Revan mind blanked as he heard this. Fear flooded through his system and time slowed down as his mind kicked into over drive, his brain flashing strategies through his head. He did not want to be violated, changed in such a way. He needed to get out of this place and it needed to happen _now_!

Taking only a second, he ran. He pushed the doctor out of the way, jumping through the door and sprinting into a grey, dimly lit corridor. He choose a random direction, left, and started sprinting.

The hallway lights turned red and alarms started blaring throughout the ship. His plan was to run around blindly, possibly gaining the schematics to the ship and hijack a transport. The plan sucked, had a very high chance of failure but Revan didn't care, he was too busy running.

Two armor figures turned the corner running full speed as well. The neo-crusaders raised their weapons, but Revan already had the scalpel in hand and jumped. He stabbed the first one in the neck and winced as he felt a warm liquid flow down his hands. Banishing the though, he turned his stolen blade and brought it up under the _beskar _armor and into his enemies rib cage and organs.

The screams would be in his nightmares for years to come.

Revan choked down the nausea that threatens to overwhelm him and started running. Things moved in a blur for several moments, but he busted into a huge camber.

A hanger, some luck at last?

What happened next would be a highly discussed event within the Mandalorian honor guard for years to come. What they did know was a child with his face covered ran at unseeable speed toward an open troop transport. The small squad of five that was sitting near their drop ship looked up and started moving towards their weapons.

Then came the odd part. Pure white lighting flowed from the open hand of the child and chained through the 5 guards, electrocuting them, fatally. The bodies then levitated and were thrown with tremendous force into the wall, leaving dents that would exist until the ships destruction during the Battle of Malachor V.

The figure was then hit by no less than 7 stun charges by various crew mates and fell down on to the floor of the hanger, his last sight before blacking out was an open ship that could have lead him to salvation.

* * *

Pain.

Revan had felt pain before. The emotionally pain of his parents dying was one of his earliest examples he could remember. That pain was an aching in his soul, seemingly a part of him… almost natural in a way. He remembered physical pain, of course. He had been a Mandalorian for a year, and that meant all the training, and therefore, pain that came with it. That had been hot and intense, but it would fade with time.

This was… something else entirely. It was penetrating into his vary soul, excruciating. It felt as if his insides were on fire and he was melting. He tried to scream, to beg for any help or mercy, but nothing would move and no power manifested to save him.

There was only desperation and pain.

After an eternity of pain and loneliness, rational thought returned. It took tremendous effort but Revan opened his eyes, only to be blinded by light. Anger flooded him, he had done nothing to deserve this, why was he in such pain.

Sight returned now, and Revan looked down. He was attached to a medical table and it was clear he had just been… operated on. New scars ran the length of his body and he say that his eye sight was clearer than it had ever been before. He glanced apathetically at his hand, taking in the scars and the medal restraints that held his hands in place.

He was caged like some science experiment.

Objects in the room began to crumble as Revan's anger built and started to manifest through the force. Through shear power the restraints snapped as if twigs and Revan stepped down; bellowing to the world for all that would wish to hear his anger and his pain.

Gas seeped into the room through vents and before Revan slipped to the void he promised himself he would never be so helpless again.


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Start of the Hero, Villain, Conquer, Savior

Chapter 6: Feeling the Effects

Disclaimer: All based on KOTOR/Star Wars EU… I own nothing

**_"I can tell you the license plate numbers of all six cars outside. I can tell you that our waitress is left-handed and the guy sitting up at the counter weighs two hundred and fifteen pounds and knows how to handle himself. I know the best place to look for a gun is the cab of the gray truck outside, and at this altitude, I can run flat out for a half mile before my hands start shaking. How can I know that and not know who I am?"_**

**—Jason Bourne, ****_The Bourne Identity_**

18 months since the invasion of Deralia, 3 months since the procedure

A Mandalorian Assault Rifle was the standard weapon of Mandalorian infantry. It had a 500 round clip that could depleted in exactly 57 seconds if held in automatic fire mode or longer if shifted to two fire bursts. The clip could then be replaced in 2.7 seconds by a skilled commando operating in must conditions.

The actual cutting power of the weapon was considered overkill by Republic and must other military organizations, but not the Mandalorians. The average Mandalorian had not need for subtle shots or power conservation, so the weapons suited them perfectly.

A basic scope and optional bayonet attachment rounded out this killing device.

At age 6, Revan, or _lis'ika_ as he was known, could operate this weapon to maximum efficiency. He could field strip the weapon and reassemble it in the dark, he could hit a target 300 meters away with a 95% success rate, and was able to (supposedly) take on a Jedi Knight with nothing more than the bayonet on this weapon and win.

He could mirror these statistics with 52 other weapons commonly (some uncommonly) found in the galaxy. When introduced to a new weapon, his instructors would make bets on how fast he would master the weapon. Those who would bet the shortest amount of time would always win.

His expertise went beyond blaster rifles. He could handle pistols, slugthrowers, and swords with equal finesse. He could perform an emergency surgery with nothing but a knife and some bandages, fly a dropship in case the pilot died, and clear an apartment building of all combatants with minimal causalities and maximum prejudice.

_Lis'ika_ could do a lot of things, he was an excellent solder.

But he was also blind.

Not literally of course. He was blind to any semblance of normalcy. He had never been to the Galactic Zoo on a field trip, never heard of something as alien as a Holo-theater, or even dreamed of luxary ice-cream exported Alderaan.

Ignorance was bliss.

In a situation that some would consider ironic, the most "normal" things in Revans life were weekly psychological and physical checkup with the doctor who had turned him into the killer he was.

* * *

"So, Doctor, am I insane?"

_Lis'ika_ asked with complete sincerity. He always would ask that question after the psych evaluation part of the weekly checkups. Usually the answer would be a monotone yes, or occasionally a joke about how the insane don't believe themselves to be sane. Today, however, the doctor finally broke.

"Yes, you should be." The doctor said as he rubbed his eyes and sighed as he tossed the medical results on the table that Revan sat before.

"What do you mean Doctor?" was the bemused response.

"Post-traumatic stress disorder, depression, social withdrawal, confusion and sleep problems. You should be experiencing these things; I should be writing on that chart you need professional counseling and some anti-depression medication. But instead, I get perfect scores, every time. EVERY F%#KING TIME." The last words were shouted as anger appeared on the doctor's face and he paced the same room furiously.

Revan tried to say something witty to defuse the situation before it got violent, but the doctor was on a roll now.

"You are obviously toying with me. You have shown yourself to be more than intelligent enough to fix the results of these tests, no matter how hard I try to keep it random. But the question is why, why do you do it? Is this a manifestation of Obsessive–compulsive disorder? Or maybe thought suppression? Perhaps you feel helpless due to the symptoms and therefore won't acknowledge them, not to the world or yourself? Or you could even…"

The doctor never finished his rant. That last sentence hit a nerve in _Lis'ika_ and he stood up.

"I AM NOT HELPLESS!"

The doctor stopped pacing and started, open mouthed at the angry child standing in front of him. Behind the child, several medical instruments were levitating and one of his medical droids seemed to be crushed like a tin can.

And just as quick as the power started to manifest itself, it disappeared as the objects fell to the floor with a crash. At that moment, the doctor looked at the child in front of him and saw the truth. This kid was a weapon, sure, but he was still a kid. A kid that had no family or support, nobody to care for him beyond himself. And he was scared and alone and tired, in a society that would destroy those who showed those symptoms.

The doctor didn't report the incident. He figured the kid deserved a break, and a friend.

* * *

3 weeks later

"Hello, Doc. How are you today?" Was the genuinely happy greeting the doctor received when Lis'ika appeared at his door for a check-up. Even that happy greeting added a ting of pain to the doctors heart. To go so quickly from hostility to friendship indicated great social repression on the young boy, repression that the doctor irrationally thought his "procedure" had somehow caused. The small part of his mind not overwhelmed by guilt would whisper the Mandalore's orders were causing this isolation, not him. But that was a small part of his mind.

"Just fine _Lis'ika_, how are you?"

The kid's eyes flashed yellow for the briefest of seconds, an event that went unnoticed by the doctor. Revan stared accusingly.

"You're lying."

To doctor stopped. Normally he would pass these things off, but the conviction and certainty the kid communicated was so absolute that… he paused. If only for a second.

"It's none of your concern." Was the guarded response.

"Fine." With a shrug.

They started at each other for a time, both asking silent questions about the nature of the other. After a time _Lis'ika_ spoke first.

"I was reassigned."

"Ohh, to where?" the doctor had access to Revan's test scores and they were constantly improving. There was no higher grade than shock commando in the Mandalorian's army, so where would _Lis'ika _be going?

"I have been set up as my own special task force, it's called _Mando Ori'ramikade_"

Supercommando? The shock troopers were more than sufficient to counter any threats in the galaxy, including Jedi. What was the purpose of making a new program?

"What does this group do?"

"No group, just me. I will answer directly to Mandalore to 'Working Without Counting The Profit and Loss'. I'm guessing that means I'm a disposable assassin or special mission's operative."

"' Working Without Counting The Profit and Loss', so a black ops group. This is obviously classified, why are you telling me this?"

_Lis'ika_ eyes fell to the floor, and he likely frowned behind that mask he always wore, but he seemed to settle the internal battle quickly.

"I… think the…" a choke in his voice "treatments… might have affected me negatively."

_"Oh S &t_" was the first thought that ran through the doctors head. He had enough burdens on his conscience, if something had gone wrong, it would be his fault. He hoped to good nothing was wrong.

Revan seemed to be staring at him intently again, as if feeling his internal torment. He heard tales of Jedi being able to do such things, but _Lis'ika_ was no Jedi, of that he was sure. We ideally wonder if there was any way to test… jediness. Not any scientific way as far as he knew.

"What's wrong?"

Another pause. "I get… serious headaches, and muscle spasms. I thought they would be only temporary, but… there still here."

A good Mandalorian did not exaggerate. And Revan was nothing if not a good Mandalorian. He wore the new clan tattoo on his should with all the pride and glory that it should be accorded. The tattoo deserved even more notoriety than that of the average clan symbol, as this was the symbol of the Terentatek clan. Terentatek's were Sith created monstrosity that fed on the blood of those rich in the force. Unlike most clans, Terentatek clan was not introduced to the clan by birth or adoption, but by choice. There had never been more than three members of the clan at a time and they were killers. The most dangerous men in the galaxy, some would say.

But those were musings for another time. The base lesson was that when he said "serious headaches" he likely meant crippling.

"Both of those are normal, and will remain with you for… a time." The doctor said. The headaches were likely caused by sensory overload due to the Superconducting Fibrification of Neural Dendrites and Carbide Ceramic Ossification parts of the procedure. The spasms were caused by rapid muscle regeneration due to the nanobots. The former _might_ decrease with time, but the latter would always remain. "I can't give you anything for the pain; the chance of addiction would be too great."

Revan winced. Then nodded.

From that day on, pain was simply part of Revan's life.

* * *

A/N: WOW, I am in complete and utter shock right now. Somebody cared enough to leave a review, and a nice one at that. I would like to sincerely that him/her and restate my amazement that people actual read my work!


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Start of the Hero, Villain, Conquer, Savior

Chapter 7: Tactics

Disclaimer: All based on KOTOR/Star Wars EU… I own nothing

**_"And the charge was instantly made down the slope at full speed through the concentrated fire of two brigades breaking with the bayonet the enemy's front line as it was crossing the small brook in the low ground there the remnant of the eight companies, nearly surrounded by the enemy held its entire force at bay for a considerable time and till it retired on the approach of the reserve the charge successfully accomplished its object. It saved this position and probably the battlefield. The loss of the eight companies in the charge was 215 killed and wounded. More than 83% percent. 47 men were still in line & no man missing. In self-sacrificing desperate valor this charge has no parallel in any war. The next day the regiment participated in repelling Pickett's charge losing 17 more men killed and wounded."_**

**_– Inscription of on the monument to the 1st Minnesota at the Gettysburg National Military Park_**

In a more ancient part of the galaxy, there is a game of cunningness and wit. A game of sacrifice and fates that only the either very skilled or very lucky can succeed in. Few remember this game, and fewer play it; however, its impact on the world stage cannot be overestimated or ignored. It is known as chess.

In this ancient area, rival warlords would train on this game to understand loss and tactics. Made of six totally independent and unrelated pieces, each pieces pro must cover the others con's to defeat the leader of the oppositions army.

Few place any value in the game as a tactical tool in the greater galaxy, but there are exceptions. Some very adventurous youth discovered the game and later used it as they grew from wanderers to leaders.

One of these men was Cassus Fett. The leader of Mandalore's armies, and Revans teacher.

"Why did you lose." A statement, not a question. Fett hated this; it was a waste of his time and considerable military talent. He should have been leading a fleet across the stars, burning planets in preparation for the great thrust into the Republic. Instead, he was here, teaching younglings.

"Your Knight and Bishop combination trapped my King to the edge of the board." The child he knew only as _Lis'ika_ responded. He was wary of the child, for multiple reasons. He looked to be about five years old, and that was young for basic training, let alone the high ranking leadership concepts he was sharing with him. He had always hide his face, always had a helmet or a facemask on. What was he hiding? Why had he been chosen by Mandalore for such training?

Nobody knew. He had made discrete inquires through various channels, and all came back that this child did not exist. No records, no family, no friends. He was a ghost. And that bothered him. Not that he would let anybody know that, of course.

"Wrong. Why did you lose?" If this child was as special as his training warranted, he should understand the deeper meaning behind the question.

_Lis'ika_ did not disappoint. "I lost too many high ranking pieces, even with my superior numbers. This allowed you to steamroll the remainder of my forces."

If this wasn't such a waste of time, Cassus would be very happy with the progress his pupil had made. Not that he would let anyone know that.

"How did you lose your high ranking pieces." Another statement. This one seemed to actual cause the child some thought. His eyes scrunched and for a time he did not answer.

"Why?" he had never heard _Lis'ika_ question before and his respect for the child rose slightly. One of the best traits a leader could have was the ability to ask for help. And he was asking for help.

"Sacrifice." That did not mean the kid would get a break of course, he still had to struggle for the answer. That was something all good teachers try to create in there students, tension of the mind.

"Sacrifice land, for time or positioning?" was the naïve answer.

In response, Cassus picked up one of the seemingly insignificant pawns, holding it up to the light for _Lis'ika_ to see.

"This is a pawn; useless, common, totally normal and uninteresting. You scarcely moved them except when the opportunity came to move you're heavier pieces out from behind there lines. But if you had charged those pawns forward, I would have been forced to confront them, opening up my stronger units for attack by your pawns and heaver units. This would have won you the game, but you did not Sacrifice."

_Lis'ika_ seemed to take this to heart. He stared at the board, with the remains of the last games defeat still shown on its surface. He mumbled quietly and indistinctively, seemingly oblivious to Cassus. It took some time, but he finally looked up.

"I would like a rematch, Field Marshal Fett."

"Granted."

A lesson in sacrifice was well learned that day, and would be remembered some time later, when the stakes were real. When the piece were fleets and the pawns men.

But they would have a King to lead them.

* * *

Tests were necessary. You could not just sit in the barracks, playing chess and expect to someday rule the galaxy. That was simply not realistic or practical. Also, the dossier on _Lis'ika_ had some crackpot doctor claiming the child might be suffering social repression. Leaders need to function as well in social functions as the battlefield.

Therefore, Cassus decide he could kill two problems with one stone.

On Mandalore, there was an enclosed stadium owned by the military. The chamber inside was about the size of a frigate class starship, and just as wide. The dome shape was temperature controlled and totally isolated from the rest of the outside world. This meant that the inside could be used to simulate any combat conditions in the galaxy.

Currently, Fett stood in a hidden observation booth above the landscape. At present, a blizzard that mirrored the conditions on Fest was blowing through the chamber, creating temperatures of about -60ºC or so.

There were two breaks in the endless field of winter. On the far west side of the chamber, several trenches with turret defenses stood defiantly. Men, Mandalorians, in green armor paced through the trenches. They were preparing for an attack obviously.

Most likely from the Mandalorians in red on the other side of the chamber. These Mandalorians wandered around aimlessly, starting fires or talking to each other. They had no authority to give them orders and they seemed fine with that, as they simply enjoyed their free time, even in there frozen environment.

That was slated to change.

As if on cue another, somewhat shorter, red Mandalorian was thrown into the chamber. This one had a black slash across his armor, to identify his status as a leader of the group. The other red _Mando's_ briefly looked up but seemed unimpressed, returning to their distractions.

This was part of the test. _Lis'ika_, or Commander Vsevolod as he was in this situation, needed to rally this weary unit and capture the green team's base on the other side of the dome. A time limit for the "motivation time" was also in place to create a sense of tension and challenge the kid. He had 3 hours starting… 15 minutes ago.

* * *

Revan still had no idea where the hell he was. He had been transferred, blindfold, from his training room to a speeder. He had then been dumped in a dark room with his red and black armor, his sword, and a Sith pistol from the Great Sith War and his pride and joy, a Bothan Needler. He also had his smuggle butterfly knife, a relic of a time long past, but a killing weapon nonetheless.

He figured this was a test, and hastily put on his various weapons and armor. He barely had time to see that his suit was air tight before a squad of shock troopers rushed in, gave him his mission orders, and physically throw him out a doorway into a snow bank.

_I've had worse mornings._

Sitting up, he reviewed his mission data, taking special note of the exaggerated clock that was counting down in the top corner of his HUD.

Looking up, he took a moment to center himself in the ice storm. He knew what to do.

* * *

Not many things surprised Cassus Fett, but this was one of them. Usually the subject would be shouting at his troops by now, had insulted their heritage and was shaming/scaring them into obeying his orders.

_Lis'ika_ was simply… talking. He had walked up to each group of Mandalorians and had engaged in _conversation_ with them. No shouting, no berating, just… talking. He had taken around an hour and a half of his time making the rounds to his troops and talking.

God only knew what he was doing now. He was going through the battalions supplies, looking for…something. Fett wanted to reach through the glass and strangle the kid. This was not how you lead men; this was how mobs were created.

He decided to spare himself the agony of watch this failure, and left the viewscreen to train instead.

* * *

One hour later, 30 minutes until required attack time

Cassus had finally calmed down enough to return to the viewscreen. He half expected the same picture he had left on, a group of highly disciplined green troops preparing defenses as the red troops sat on their thumbs and did nothing.

He was half-right.

The greens were still patrolling and shoring up defenses, perhaps with more zest, but otherwise the same.

But he was not looking at the green team. He was distracted by the huge bonfire that was in the center of the red base. All the red solders were sitting in a tight circle around one being with a black slash across his armor.

_Lis'ika_, the realization hit him.

For the next twenty minutes Cassus stared transfixed as _Lis'ika_ sat at the center of the circle and appeared to tell _jokes_ to the rest of the soldiers. And the soldiers seemed to enjoy themselves even more, with the fire and the jokes, some even took off there helmets.

_Bing_!

A small clock broke the silence, declaring that _Lis'ika_ had ten minutes to start his attack.

* * *

_Bing_!

That was his signal. One last joke though.

"What do you can a person who brought a Rancor to dinner?"

The Mandalorians all leaned in, waiting for the punchline.

"An appetizer!"

The battalion broke down laughing, some even rolling on the ground at the joke. Revan smiled under his helmet, and then dramatically check his holo-clock on his wrist.

"See you guys around." As he stood up, and began to walk in the general direction of the green base. This was the tricky part of his plan. After all he could not assault the green base alone. He was very nervous as he walked away, until a hand grabbed him, and he knew his plan succeeded.

"Were you going?" was the question the sergeant who grabbed him asked.

"To assault the enemy base." Was the answer Revan mustered in his best nonchalant voice.

"By yourself? You can't win."

"True but it is my test after all. Not yours. I shall fail on my own merits."

If the sergeant did not have his mask on, Revan would have seen the fire in his eyes.

"Mandalorians do not operate alone, Commander. We will be coming with!" this caused a small cheer from the crowd of red warriors, who were all watching this exchange intently.

Everything was going as Revan had foreseen.

* * *

Cassus Fett decided _Lis'ika_ needed more practical experience. Simulations were absolutely no substitute to real events and battles. Take this most recent test, if one could call it that. Troops were simply not governed by that sense of loyalty in the field. Good Mandalorian troops ran on the fact that their leaders were stronger than them, that that strength gave them the right to lead.

_Lis'ika_ seemed to run on the principal that solders wanted their leaders, not to be stronger, but to be one of them. He had reviewed the Kobayashi test extensively, and nobody had used the strategy quiet like the kid had.

To complicate matters further, the green team commander had requested a meeting with 'Commander Vsevolod' to have a chat. He wanted to discuss "What tactics my opponent had used to overwhelm his base with speed and vigor I had not seen in the 20 years I had run this test." The kid was supposed to be a black list, no info available to anyone. He did not need to be the hero people talked about winning the Kobayashi test.

An aide enter quietly and placed two more holo-disks on his desk, smart enough to realize that talking to his boss at this time would not be advantages for his health. Sick of the commander's request, he picked up the new disks and looked them over.

Of course, they were requested by the red and green team's troops to be led by Commander Vsevolod on the field of battle.

This was such…


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Start of the Hero, Villain, Conquer, Savior

Chapter 8: Deployments

Disclaimer: All based on KOTOR/Star Wars EU… I own nothing

**_Ubi solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant. (Where they create desolation, they call it peace.)_**

**_— Tacitus _**

4 years since the invasion of Deralia

The battle of Flahspoint Station is often ignored in the annuals of history. It was overshadowed by the invasion of Battle of Cathar and the stations destruction around ten months later. While it is true that those events hold a significants all their own, the battle deserves much more notoriety.

This was the first instance a than insignificant captain named Saul Karath did anything of importance, rallying the scattered defense fleet and successful retreating to report the unwarranted Mandalorian act of aggression to the senate. Also, Mandalore the Ultimate personally lead that attack, patenting the attacks that would bleed republic troops for years to come.

Time hid other parts of this battle, but something that is hidden cannot remain so forever. Several thousand years later, Imperial historians would come to a startling discovery about the battle. It made absolutely no sense. Why would Mandalore come to this insignificant battleground? Why was there a republic fleet guarding a research station? The most intriguing question was why a research station was so far in Mandalorian space anyway?

Also, the causality counts. Mandalore the Ultimate and Cassus Fett kept extensive records of troops and manpower during the early years of the war, likely to stroke their own egos. The historian that examined these records found something… freighting.

Both lists said (concerning the ground troops):

Enemies killed: 120,000

Units deployed: 1

* * *

As the drop doors opened in front of Revan and the air was sucked out of the drop bay, he could not deny the beauty that stood before him. A planet stood before him, back dropped beautifully by the young sun the raged with passion. His enhanced eyes bagged him to look away, to focus on the darkness that would not hurt him, but _Lis'ika_ refused. It was to… polarizing, the light and the dark. It… appealed to him.

His appreciation for his view was cut short as his ship was launched directly at the planet's surface. He was pushed back into his sit by the sheer g-force of the launch and his vision whined as he became lightheaded.

As he was battling the invisible forces pushing him into his seat, he was barely able to make out the bright red laser streaks that shot past his window from the Mandalorian _Kandosii_-type dreadnaught that he had just been launched out of. The blasts hit there Republic counterparts with terrifying effect, destroying several ships outright.

Mandalore's ship was only the tip of the spear. The rest of the Mandalorian fleet would soon warp in behind him, crushing any opposition. But that was not _Lis'ika_ concern.

For months, the Mandalorian war machine had been in a state of chaos due to attacks on their shipping lanes. At first, it seemed pirates had been the cause, but they were too organized and persistent. To discover the identity and origin of these raiders, a trap had been set. The results were unexpected. A Republic Commando team had been captured, their interrogation resulting in the location of their hidden base. Flashpoint Station.

The nature of Flashpoint Station meant that any large scale assault was simply not possible. The planet was so close to its sun that radiation would burn through any attack force before they could breach the facility.

Mandalore jumped at the chance to test his new toy with a Terentatek tattoo. And so, _Lis'ika_ was tasked with an infiltration mission. Careful reviewing of the station schematics had reveled weak points that, when hit with the proper force, could vent the atmosphere of the facility. This would kill all inside, but leave the station intact for Mandalore's lackeys.

**Crash!**

He broke through the roof of the facility, coming to a sudden stop as he hit the floor. That's when training kicked in.

Door open a Revan rushed out, placing two head shots into the nearest moving body as he scanned the perimeter of room. Speed was of the utmost importance, so he took off running. His HUD gave him a map of the base, so he followed it to his first objective point.

A solder practically tackled him as he took a turn. He reacted quickly, dropping his weapon and grabbing his father's butterfly knife. Snapping that open, he jammed it under the rib cage of the soldier. Blood spilt onto his hands as he stared into the dying man eyes.

Then he almost pasted out from the wave of memories that occurred. He remembered running from his procedure, stabbing a guard in a similar way and the blood… oh god there had been blood.

He hated these moments, moments of total weakness. Trapped in his own head as his body did god only know, reliving his greatest moment of pain and desperation over and over again. He needed to break out of this… prison.

He slowly felt his mind return to his body, and he saw a tunnel at the end of his dreams that must certainly be reality. He approached it, trying desperately to jump through the window and return to his mind.

Then he got one of his **F &king **headaches. It seemed like something was trying to push him back, back into his memories, not letting him escape. It was a battle, a battle in the center of his own mind as he tried to push the foreign influence from his head and return to the living. And the longer it went on, the more pain it cause.

But he saw something just then, an image from his past he actually welcomed. It was his father, smiling as he gave him a uniform. Things were so carefree than, so peaceful. For him anyway. His father would not have wanted him to lose this fight, neither would his mother. And so he fought, escaping from his own mind.

Blood smeared his Mandalorian mask, and sound filled his ears as he zoomed back into his body. He quickly took stock. He was covered in blood, raising his hand as he screamed some feral sound at the sun above him. He suddenly felt tired, falling to his knees as his full sanity came back to him.

Cleaning his helmet, he noticed three icons that indicated all his bombs were planted and ready for detonation. Unbelieving, several quick blinks to the upper left of his screen brought the sound of explosions and screeching medal.

He had done it.

* * *

As the drop ship returned him to the Mandalorian capital ship, Revan could not help but peak at his helmet cam. It was totally undamaged, allowing him to see the whole battle from a first person perspective.

What he saw shocked him.

After stabbing that solder with his father's knife, he had lost it. He had run around the base, screaming in Deralian as he wielded his pistols akimbo. After that did not satisfy his bloodlust, he had pulled the knife and his _Beskade_ sword, slicing man after man as he rushed around the base. He was surprised to see that he had managed to remove the explosive charges from his pockets in his wild stage.

He shut off the video less than 5 minutes into his 2 hour long mission, promptly deleting it. Nobody needed to know about his weakness. Or his insanity.

* * *

The body detail was the responsibility of a victor on a battlefield in any war. Bodies needed to be moved before they smelled or feasted. Plus it was a form of respect to the dead.

The bodies that remained in Flashpoint Stellar Research Station were nothing like the "clean up" crews had seen before. Some had all there internal organs crushed, but no scratch on the outside. Some had there neck snapped as if a twig, there last moments of fear etched on their face.

The most freighting, however, were the drained. Not a mark, not a scratch, no reason to be dead. But they were. It was as if there life force had been drained right out of them.

And it had.


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Start of the Hero, Villain, Conquer, Savior

Chapter 9: Hunger

Disclaimer: All based on KOTOR/Star Wars EU… I own nothing

**_Somewhere on Beta Colony there is an institution. In one room of the institution, there is a man who spends his days and nights screaming at things that only he can see. Things we planted in his mind. They have to keep him in a straitjacket twenty-four hours a day or he'll claw his own eyes out just to make it stop. _**

_— __**Lyta Alexander**__, Babylon 5 _

There was a lot for the Mandalorian people to be happy about these days, Mandalore mused. They were spreading throughout the galaxy at a pace way above schedule, they had not lost a signified battle yet, and the majority of species they had crushed were honorable… enough.

The quality of life for the average Mandalorian had improved as well. The slaves from there conquest were quickly adding to their industrial and military strength, making life easy for the people. Not that they would stop challenging themselves, they were Mandalorian, after all.

And there was, of course, the success of Clan Terentatek. On this, Mandalore was most pleased. All tests over the past 3 and a half years had shown… perfection. He had shown his leadership skills to be exceptional in testing, even if his methods were non-mandalorian. He needs real world tests, but that was a test of time, not of training. On the note of his personal battle prowess, he had no reason to doubt it. Although his personal helmet cam footage had disappeared in the battle of Flahspoint Station, _Lis'ika_ had succeeded, so he must have won on some level.

Today, however, would be the child's hardest test. Mandalore had seen grown men fall to their knees at this test and knew men had killed themselves due to what he was about to ask. But it was the final step. The end of the journey to be the ultimate killer in the galaxy.

But it would come at the cost of his soul.

Revan always liked to read. It was a good challenge, he thought. Sure, he could learn anything through a holo-vid or an audio track, but reading had a personal touch. He could control the flow of reading easier as well, choosing when to review and when to go. Plus, it didn't give him a headache.

Gaining books in the Mandalorian fleet was not a simple matter, however. Sure, ships had libraries, but the entire achieve revolved around killing or Mandalorian warlords, often both. So, always the resourceful one, Revan had had the Doctor smuggle books to him. With these books, he had managed to maintain his teaching, learning of mathematics, science, history, and language.

He was enjoying a review of the newly discovered language of the Wookiees, called Shyriiwook, when one of his many "caretakers" walked into his cell.

"The time has come _Lis'ika_, follow." When these guys gave orders, Revan tended to follow them. He had tried some civil disobedience tactics when he had first come to this place, but that simply resulted with one of the "caretakers" hitting him in the head with a baton. And that had hurt. So, he played along, following the guard down the various twists and turns into the deep of the ship, not passing another soul in the prison that was his home. He quietly reflected on what his task could be. He had been deployed to Flashpoint no less than two weeks ago, and his commander training had had a test the week after that. If this was to be a test, he was surprised.

Then they took the Turn. The Turn was a place Revan had never gone. It was a corridor that looked no different than any other that was on the ship, but it _felt_ different. Whenever Revan had walked pass this door, he could hear the suffering screams that seemed to emanate from it, but there was never a sound. It troubled his shattered soul. And he was walking right into it.

"Read, and execute." Was the guards simple words as he was pushed into a unlit room, a datapad clutched in his hands. With fumbling figures, he found the activation switch, barely lighting the dark room as he read.

_"Discover subject's origins, use any means"_

A blinding flash cut his thoughts on his mission, temporarily blinding him, regardless of his helmets built in flash suppressors. When he came back to his senses, he closed his eyes again, horrified by the sights he saw around him.

Dried blood splattered the walls and barbaric machines lined the walls, similarly coated. The tools ranged from medieval clubs and blades to modern monstrosities, such as a force whip. Even some droids awaited activation, ready to do their foul purpose.

Revans vision took this in at a glance, but he could not focus on it. His mind was drawn to a man tied to a table in the center of the room. There was a man there, the feeling of fear rolling of him was…palpable. He had been in the chamber for some time, and he had the look of a man half-crazed.

He was supposed to torture this man. Immediately, his mind began to flash to his own past, when he was helpless and strapped to a table. A headache began to build and his hands trembled as his photographic memory provide the perfect play by play of his own blood being spilled.

Then that darkness came again, urging him to kill and seek revenge, to release the feral power that sat inside him waiting. The hunger was immense, desperate to be satisfied. And for the briefest moment, Revan gave in.

* * *

The man strapped to the table gazed in wonder at the child in front of him. He was the one who had reported the child to the Emperor no less than three years ago, and had subsequently be reassigned to watch the boys progress.

It was the hardest assignment the spy had undertaken, a lack of resources and the Mandalorians own internal security had lead him to take to many risks. And risks got you killed in this business. He was surprised when the shock troopers had turned up at his door, he should have heard some rumblings of his "arrest" through the contacts that he had set up. But, as with all things, he ultimately could only depend on himself. And he had failed.

He had wondered his fate as he waited for several days in this room. He was trained for this and knew he could give no information on his origin, or his Emperors plans would all fall to the wayside. His life was insignificant to the plans of the Emperor and he went to his death willingly.

He was impress when the child was thrust into the chamber, respect for Mandalore, of course. It was a creative final test for the child, and it was the final test. The child had passed all other trials, and would start to lead battle groups soon, if he was not mistaken. This was a test of loyalty to the Mandalore, to due the greatest pain to others, a pain the subject had felt himself. It was a stroke of genius.

The child was on his knees, mumbling to himself in some language he had never heard before, and grabbing his head in pain. He assumed it was the rare language of Deralia, with less than one thousand surviving practitioners still living. If he did not have a neural disruptor on his neck, he would have used the force to discover what the child was battling himself about.

Then he saws his end. The child looked up into his eyes, and even with the mask obscuring his opposites face, he saw the bright yellow that flash within them. Then the child screams echo within his mind

_"WHO DO YOU SERVE?"_ and then he felt his presence in the force draining into the hand of the child who stood before him. His very soul was being taken from him, a fate MUCH worse than any torture that a mortal man could bring. The pain was all encompassing, his training doing nothing to stop it. No cause, no prize was worth the pain he felt now. So he started to tell everything.

* * *

The darkness was in control. He was a passenger in his own life, simply watching as his vessel that was his body raised his hand and start to gain power. He was shouting into the man's mind and his hand was receiving this… orange string from the spy's body.

The hunger in his soul was delighted with the bounty that this man's soul was providing him, but it wanted more. It was never to be satisfied, as the hunger would grow and grow until planets would not be enough to keep it in check. Revan saw this.

He knew that this path would have no end if he followed it, that he would cease to be human himself and become something profoundly less. A wound in the fabric of life, of the force.

He did the only thing he could to save himself, he resisted. He forced himself to stop the feeding, to end the affront to the force as he was committing it. The hunger fought back of course, manifesting itself in the very mind of Revan, trying to wrestle control of his own body away from him. The battle ranged and the two personalities throwing their full strength against the other. Revan summoned his raw will to bare, his need to win and prove to so many others he was worthy of his skills. The darkness gathered its hunger, a feeling of need so acute that any drug that existed could not compete with its addiction.

For what seemed an age, they stood locked in a stalemate in the mind, seeking weakness in the others mental defenses. But the force always would choose those who had gained its favor, and Revan began to gain momentum in the battle. The hunger could never be destroyed, of course, only suppress and ignored. But, for the foreseeable future, it would be quiet and calm.

Revan stood, trying to regain his bearings in the world after he had left it for a time. The spy sat infront of him, pale, scared and whimpering, but alive. Revan felt some satisfaction that the hunger had not claimed another victim, and he felt confident it would not gain any others for a while.

A Mandalorian sergeant rushed into the room, quickly taking stalk of the situation. "What did you do to him?" he demanded.

The future Dark Lord of the Sith turned and walked back to his barracks, and fell into one of his deepest sleeps.

* * *

A/N: What I am trying to do here is make Revan a foil to Darth Nihilus. Both experienced traumatic events that unlock the power of force drain to them, and awakened their hunger for the force sensitive. Revan, however, managed to repress his hunger (for the foreseeable future), while Nihilus simply gives in and hungers. Cool, Right?


	11. Chapter 11

Title: Start of the Hero, Villain, Conquer, Savior

Chapter 10: Nathema

Disclaimer: All based on KOTOR/Star Wars EU… I own nothing

**_"You feel the chill of the Void. The Force is energy; it gives heat to our emotions and our minds. But here it has been stripped away." _**

**_―Darth Nyriss, Star Wars: The Old Republic: Revan_**

Mandalore did not feel fear. He had lead Basilisk war droids as they plummeted towards a planet's surface as flak exploded around him. He had watched Jedi beg for their pathetic lives as they were slowly crushed underneath the soul of his boot. He had faced down the alien hoards as they climbed over the bodies of his own men to eat his very soul.

But the Sith Emperor terrified him.

It was… everything about the being. The yellow eyes, the gray, cracked skin, the armor that hide his frame and the hood that showed he was… superior. He could crush him in a single though. Mandalore knew, he had tried to resist the Siths power once. The result was unspeakable horror that haunted him at night.

So when that being called for him, he obeyed.

"The Deralian child will perform a task for me." The holographic figure told Mandalore without preamble. His voice made the warrior shiver.

"He is not ready, my lord." The armored figure said from his bowed postion on the floor. He wanted to have a card to play, and Clan Terentatek was his hidden ace.

"You dare question me, mandalorian?" a voice of cold malice stopped his train of thought and he knew his life was on the line. If he wanted his life, he would not question.

"What would you have me ask of him?"

"He shall be sent to these coordinates, alone. Create whatever excuse you see fit to send him there. No one will know his location or that see the coordinates I send you… is that clear."

"Yes, my lord. It shall be done without pause."

"Your life depends upon it."

The hologram cut without ceremony, leaving Mandalore the Ultimate alone, fearing for his sanity and his life.

* * *

Hyperspace was boring. Sure, the view of the stars elongating and the blue tunnel that followed it was wonderful to look at, for the first hour or so. But after a cautious cycle of blue for around four hours straight, it started to get to a person.

_Lis'ika_ was seven years old and, trained killer or not, he still had a very limited tolerance for long waits. He had tried to distract himself by reading a smuggled book on Republic military doctrine, but the sheer stupidity of their logic made the book give him a headache. He tried pacing up and down his narrow transport ship, but that just seemed to be a waste of time. So he engaged in one of the most dangerous of all pastimes, thinking.

His thought process settled on the subject of how irregular this mission was. Awakened in the middle of the night with his guard almost kicking his door down, he was dragged, half-dazed by the stun stick they had used to get him moving, to the hanger. There he was push into a ship that had been programmed by Mandalore _himself_, without any information on what was supposed to do or how to do it.

All he had on him was his pajamas and his father's knife, which he had managed to hide. As he twirled that knife absent mindedly, he reviewed his options. It was unlikely that this was a test; it was too spontaneous and unorganized. Sure, he had been awaken in the middle of the night and been launched into test before, but there was always an air of formality to them that betrayed the realism. He was sure it was not a mission, those required weapons and intelligence briefings to function. Nothing of that sort was provided; it was the opposite of that if anything.

Perhaps, he was competition? Surely, Mandalore knew Revan did not relish the torture, killing and brainwashing that was forced upon him, and was seeking to remove him before he became an active threat to his rule. But that was illogical; he was too young and had too much training under his belt to be killed so haphazardly.

It seemed an outside influence might be to blame. But what individual or group had the power to make Mandalore himself abandon him, a long term investment.

His musing was cut with that annoying beeping sound that signified his ship coming out of hyperspace. He quickly strapped himself in to a seat, fearful of a concussion if he rammed into a planet. He wasent sure what to expect of the location, but what he say caused much more questions than answers.

Dead, everything was dead. The seas were a dull brown and former farmlands were decomposing slop. His brain kicked into overdrive, was there a bioweapon on the planet, a poison introduced into the water supply that killed everything. One thing was clear; he could not land on the planet by choice, due to his lack of lintel.

Slicing was something he had been taught in his infiltration studies under the Mandalorians, so he was able to start adjusting his course within a few moments. He almost had access to the navcomputer when his proximity alarm began beeping. Seconds later, three ships with an unknown make and emblem flew by his small transport. From there size, they looked to be fighters, and they were likely here for him.

He started attempting to make basic dodging maneuvers, but it was too late. One of the fighters turned back and fired upon him, causing the Prince of Deralias world to fall into darkness.

* * *

This was not the first time Revan had been awoken to being unceremoniously dragged by dark figures. Every once in a while, someone would get a lucky shot of at him in training, or a stun bolt had reflected directly into his chest in live fire exercises. He really didn't mind that, it was good to keep ones ego in check.

But this was the first time he had been knocked out in a combat situation, and his two mysterious assailants seemed to really enjoy dragging him over every sharp rock from here to Nar Shaddaa, so he figured it would be best to cut this trip short.

That was of course easier said than done when you're being dragged by your feet with no weapons, but he wasn't part of the infamous Terentatek clan for nothing. Speed would be of the essence.

He wrenched his right foot back, knocking one of his assailants off balance, and just as quickly push forward, throwing the soldier away. With that foot free, he twisted his left foot valiantly, using his right foot to kick the legs out from under his second kidnapper. Free now, he jumped away, desperately grabbing a sharp rock that was under him. Trooper one had recovered grabbing him off the ground to deliver a punch, but took a rock to the face instead. The sharp rock had pieced his skull rather easily.

Number two was standing up now, something akin to a stun stick in his hand. They circled each other, waiting for the other to make a move. Finally, the troopers let out a battle cry, charging and swinging the weapon at his head. Revan dodged low, delivering a double fist punch to his opposite's stomach. Predictably, he doubled over, allowing Revan to deliver a feral knee to his enemies face.

Mind still in combat mood, he quickly stared around, attempting to find another threat. He found nothing but a dead plain, with a single pillar of smoke rising from the distance. He allowed himself a few deep breaths than, looking himself over to determine his physical condition. He had rocks in his back from the dragging, and a few in his feet occurred in the fight, but the adrenaline high from the fight did not allow him to feel them.

That's when he felt it, the lack. The feeling of satisfaction part of him would gain from killing was not there, as was the hunger the killing would feed. He felt his hearing was not as sharp, nor his eyesight. The bright feeling that would counter act the hunger and guide him was gone as well, leaving him feeling… peaceful.

It was nice, not having two parts of his soul fighting within himself.

_Perhaps it was the result of the crash_, he thought as he thoughtfully gazed at the pillar of smoke, _I have a concussion, perhaps?_

He shook those thoughts away, wanting to focus on the here and now. He final took a good look at his two captures. They were both male, a Human and Echani. Both had a distinctive six-pointed emblem on their black uniforms, with an extending star on the inside of it. Revan knew hundreds of company, military, and mercenary emblems from his studies, but he had ever since this one. He searched the bodies, finding a blaster pistol and stun stick from each, as well as his father's knife. The real prize was a medical kit that the Echani had, that contained a pair of tweezers. He used those to remove the sharp rocks from his feet, and then stole the human's clothes, to replace his totally shredded pajamas.

The boots were a bit big.

* * *

After about an hour of walking directly away from his crashed ship, he found what he was looking for. The enemy's base camp. There was a minor marine detachment, which was guarding and drop ship and five single fighters. Looking down from the hill he sat at, he counted 15 guards. He might be able to take them on a good day, but the weird concussion was messing with his… edge.

He could try to pass himself off as a pilot, but he would likely be shot as we warmed up the engine. He mused for a time, before a smile broke out under his mask. This was going to be fun.

The captain of the Sith guard was annoyed. He was one of the chosen few non-force sensitive's that served the Emperor directly, and he was babysitting. He was waiting for the one of his seven two person search party to check in, as they had not for at least an hour. As he waited for them to find the _precious cargo _from the ship that was shoot down upon entering the system. In the meantime, he had to babysit the pilots from the fighters and one dropship.

All the pilots did was complain. And complain. And complain. It was annoying, he preferred the Marines to pilots. Just as he was about to shout at one of pilots complain that he did not have a manicure and massage when he heard a high pitched whining.

At first, he attributed it to too many years of standing next to heavy artillery pieces in the middle of sieges, but it slowly began to get louder and louder until even the infernal pilots started to notice. It seemed to be coming from one of the fighters, the one farthest away from the camp.

He did what his training commanded, pulling his rifle and slowly approaching the ship. He trained his gun on the pilot's seat, seeing nothing, he moved around to the back of the ship. The last thing he saw was an open panel with several wires jury-rigged together.


End file.
